


crying on the bus (we've all been there)

by drizzly_bear



Category: The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Bus, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kind of sad?, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, is soft angst a tag, soft angst, the bus driver is an absolute lad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 17:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18287063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drizzly_bear/pseuds/drizzly_bear
Summary: Alyssa’s seen several people cry on the bus before. Public transport is a liminal space where anything is possible. The crying people are usually babies in strollers, though, or occasionally the mothers.Not the cute girl Alyssa has chemistry with.





	crying on the bus (we've all been there)

**Author's Note:**

> oneshot set before the events of The Prom (the musical), where Alyssa and Emma aren’t dating yet.

Alyssa always catches the 9 o’clock bus home from debating on a Thursday night. Most kids get picked up by their parents, but Alyssa’s mother was far too busy to chauffeur her around. That was fine by Alyssa. No one else was catching public transport at 9pm on a Thursday night, and there was something peaceful about having the whole bus to herself. Why they decided to hold debating so late on a weeknight, Alyssa would never understand, but she didn’t really mind. Sometimes it was enough just to get out of the house and away from her mother

Tonight, however, as Alyssa climbs onto the bus, there’s someone else already on board. They’re alone at the back of the bus, sitting sort of curled into the seat with an oversized grey hoodie pulled over their face.

Alyssa would usually never approach someone on the bus and sit with them, but the person shifts and wipes at their face with a hand, letting a lock of blonde hair fall across their cheek. At that moment, Alyssa realizes two things: that she’s pretty sure that blonde hair belongs to Emma Nolan, who she has chemistry class with; and that Emma is crying.

She doesn’t know Emma very well, but anyone upset enough to be crying on a bus is in need of help of some kind. There’s nothing sadder than crying on a bus, except maybe crying alone on a bus that has one other person on it. Alyssa’s heart goes out to the girl – the Emma she knows is witty, sarcastic, and unafraid to stand up for herself, even when their entire year level makes fun of her. She couldn’t imagine what circumstances could have possibly led Emma here. Maybe the relentless bullying had finally gotten to her. Although Alyssa had made it a point to tell her friends to stop whenever they insulted Emma, she still felt a stab of guilt. She should be doing more to help the other girl; Emma had never even done anything wrong. Her only crime was that of being different.

The bus driver clears her throat, and Alyssa starts, realizing that she had been standing motionless at the front of the bus for several seconds. She hurriedly heads toward the back of the bus where Emma is sitting, muffling a curse as she trips over a duffel bag that is partially blocking the aisle. Frowning, Alyssa notices that there are two duffel bags stacked in the row in front of Emma. Strange.

Alyssa steps over the bag that had tripped her and sits down a seat away from Emma just as the bus starts moving. Sitting this close to the other girl, she can tell that Emma is crying silently, her shoulders shaking from the force of her sobs.

She tentatively places a concerned hand on Emma’s shoulder.

“Hey Emma?” she starts gently. “It’s me, Alyssa. From chem.”

There’s no response from Emma, but Alyssa hears her take a few heaving breaths in an attempt to stop crying.

“Are you alright?” Alyssa asks, then corrects herself. Emma is clearly not alright. “Stupid question. But can I help?”

Emma shakes her head, making the hoodie flop down over her eyes. “N-no. You can’t. Don’t worry about it. Just go h-home,” a fresh wave of sobs wracks her body, “or whatever.”

Alyssa considers doing as she’s been asked, on the off-chance that Emma does actually want her to leave. But curled up on the bus seat as Emma is, she looks like a wounded animal. The kind that snaps and snarls at others to protect themselves, scared and lost and hurt. In need of help.

“Emma, I don’t want to leave you alone like this. Do you want to talk about it, or can I at least give you a hug?”

A watery chuckle emits from somewhere beneath the hood. “A hug would be kind of nice, to be honest. But like, you don’t have to.”

Alyssa scoots across to the seat next to Emma, sitting with one leg folded under herself so that she faces the crying girl, and pulls Emma into her arms. Emma collapses into the embrace, no longer resisting Alyssa’s attempts to comfort her.

“I know I don’t have to,” Alyssa says, pressing her cheek into the top of Emma’s head and squeezing her gently. The last thing Emma needed to believe right now was that she was imposing on Alyssa. “It’s okay. I want to help you.”

Emma nods into Alyssa’s shoulder. Her sobs slowly grow weaker, and then they cease altogether. The girls sit like that for a little longer, Emma wrapped firmly in Alyssa’s arms, until Emma takes a shaky breath in and sits up. Alyssa reluctantly lets Emma go, regretting the cold space against her body where Emma had been resting.

“Sorry for crying on you,” Emma apologizes. She scrubs her hoodie-sleeved hands across her face in a futile effort to remove the tear-tracks from her cheeks. Emma smiles a small, weak smile that doesn’t really touch her eyes. “You give really good hugs.”

“Thanks.”

Emma looks exhausted, her eyes puffy, her face blotchy, her hair in total disarray. Alyssa suppresses the instinct to ruffle the other girl’s already-messy hair. Turns out that there’s no bonding experience quite like comforting a crying girl on the back of a bus. She already feels closer to Emma than she does to her two ‘best friends’ – the three of them never show genuine emotion to each other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alyssa asks quietly. She is, admittedly, curious about Emma’s situation, but that’s not what motivates her. Even though she and Emma aren’t friends at school, Alyssa feels both a sense of responsibility and an undeniable interest in the girl who had been so deeply vulnerable in front of her.

Seeing Emma hesitate, Alyssa adds, “It’s okay if you don’t want to. But it’s also absolutely fine if you do. I won’t judge you, no matter what.”

Emma stares into Alyssa’s eyes, and Alyssa looks back, trying to put all the sincerity she feels into her gaze. Emma has luminous hazel eyes. How had she never noticed that before?

“You promise you won’t judge me,” Emma says, her golden-green eyes intense.

“I promise.”

“No matter what.”  

“No matter what.”

“Okay.” Emma breaks eye contact with Alyssa and looks down at her hands, which are twisting around each other in her lap. Slowly, she begins. “My parents kicked me out.”

Alyssa’s eyes widen involuntarily. She’d thought she had a difficult relationship with her mother, but she could never imagine being asked to leave the house. What kind of horrible parents would kick Emma out? What could Emma have possibly done to earn that? Though horrified, she says nothing yet, not wanting to break the fragile flow Emma was getting into.

“My parents kicked me out,” Emma repeats numbly. Her eyes look glazed, as if she’s still processing it, still trying to make it seem real. “I told them that I’m gay, and they kicked me out.”

Emma stops, and looks directly at Alyssa again, fixing Alyssa with her piercing eyes. “That’s it. I told them that I’m gay, and they kicked me out.

Alyssa stares at Emma, dismayed. She’d heard rumors that Emma was a lesbian, of course she’d heard, but she tried not to put too much stock into rumors. But they were true. Emma was gay. A lesbian. The words echoed in her mind like an old Microsoft screensaver, striking a chord somewhere deep inside Alyssa’s psyche. Suddenly Alyssa had a lot of questions.

“Do you hate me now?” Emma asks.

Alyssa shakes herself out of her thoughts. She could think about what it meant that Emma was gay later. “What? No! Why would I hate you?”

“Because I’m gay,” Emma says matter-of-factly. “Everyone else seems to.” Emma’s chin trembles, and Alyssa sees under that thin veneer of confidence to the scared, lonely, 16-year-old inside. She finally clicks out of shock and back into the situation facing her.

“No,” Alyssa says firmly, putting her hand over Emma’s on the seat. “I don’t think any less of you because of that. You’re still the same sarcastic, funny girl that I kind of wish was my lab partner because you seem like you actually know what you’re doing in class and could maybe have stopped me from blowing up the peanut brittle.”

“You… noticed me?” Emma asks, sounding nervous.

“I guess so.” Alyssa had never thought that she paid much attention to Emma Nolan in class, but now that she thought about it she could remember internally laughing at every funny comment Emma made and admiring Emma’s quiet but sure presence in the room. Weird. She mentally turned back to the problem at hand. She had to help Emma – find her somewhere to stay, make sure that she would be doing alright.  

“What are you doing on this bus, Emma? Where are you going?”

Emma looks utterly baffled for a moment, then replies, “I don’t know. I just packed my stuff, walked out of the house, and… got the next bus, I guess.”

Alyssa laughs, then claps her hand over her mouth guiltily. “Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh.”

“S’fine,” Emma says, the edges of her mouth curling upwards. “It is kind of funny.”

Alyssa likes that about her – Emma’s ability to laugh at herself. In another life, Alyssa would have liked to be friends with Emma.

“Have you got anywhere to go? Some relative you could maybe stay with?”

Emma’s despondent demeanor brightens slightly as she thinks about it. “Yeah, my grandma Betsy. Thanks, Alyssa, I nearly forgot. I stay with her on the weekends sometimes, but I haven’t for a while.”

“I’m sure she’d be willing to take you in,” Alyssa says. “Or at least look after you until your parents come around.”

Emma blinks back the tears threatening to well up again. “I’m not so sure that they’ll ever change their minds, Alyssa.”

Alyssa fumes internally, wanting to burst into Emma’s house and give Emma’s parents a piece of her mind. Emma was kind, and beautiful, and strong, and her parents were fools if they couldn’t see that.

“And that’s on them,” Alyssa says with a hint of rage in her voice. “Not you. That’s their problem, and it’s their loss. Don’t waste a second of guilt on those losers.”

“But they’re my _parents_.” Emma’s voice sounds broken, defeated, and her eyes are still damp.

“Exactly.” Alyssa takes both of Emma’s hands with her own and stares at her fiercely, willing her to believe. “You’re their kid, and they’re supposed to love you unconditionally. And if they won’t accept you for who you are, that’s on them. They’re the ones that are fundamentally broken, not you. _Not. You._ ”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Emma whispers.

Alyssa can’t believe that Emma is incapable of trusting that anyone would ever be nice to her anymore. Actually, she could believe that. Everyone Emma had trusted had turned their backs on her. And that made Alyssa feel angry and helpless and hopeless and protective all at once.

“Because… why wouldn’t I be?” Alyssa flounders. How do you explain to someone that everyone deserves kindness?

“We’re not friends,” Emma points out.

Alyssa can’t think of what to say, so after a pause, she asks, “Where does your grandmother live?”

“She’s on Marion Avenue. Number 17.”

Alyssa leans across Emma and squints out the window. The dim illumination of streetlamps and houselights tells her nothing about their location.

She turns to Emma. “Do you know how to get there from here? ‘Cause I sure don’t.”

Emma shakes her head.

Alyssa stands up. “I’ll ask the bus driver.”

Making her way down to the front of the bus, she hopes that with some time, Emma will feel better. She wants to make Emma laugh again, wants to see if sunlight and laughter will bring out the golden glimmers in Emma’s hazel eyes. She wants to know if Emma’s a cat person or a dog person, what books or TV shows or movies she likes, what her favorite food and color and song are. What Emma’s hair feels like tangled in her fingers.

She asks, “Excuse me ma’am, do you know how to get to Marion Avenue from here? We’re kind of lost.”

The woman looks at her appraisingly. Alyssa gives the driver her best smile, implementing her dimple as she does so. Could the driver hear the conversation they had been having?

“Look, sweetheart,” the driver says, “This bus doesn’t go anywhere near Marion. But I’ll tell you what: I’ll take a detour and drop ya off there. No one ever gets on this damned bus anyways.”

“Are you sure?” Alyssa asks worriedly. “You won’t get into trouble or anything?”

The driver snorts. “The last time they cared about what the bus drivers did, I was younger than you are now. Don’t you worry, I’ll get the two of you there in just a tick.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Alyssa says. “Thank you so much!”

Triumphant, Alyssa returns to the back of the bus.

“The driver’s going to drop us off there,” she tells Emma.

Emma doesn’t reply, drained from the emotional night she’s had.

Not long after Alyssa sits back down next to her, Emma’s head falls to rest on Alyssa’s shoulder. Alyssa freezes, then forces herself to relax incrementally so that she doesn’t move and risk Emma moving her head away. Then, she slowly moves her arm and slips it around Emma’s back to rest her hand at Emma’s waist, so that they can sit more comfortably in that position.

Emma snuggles in a little.

Eventually, Alyssa says, “I know we’re not really friends, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you. I think you’re really brave for standing up to everyone at school.” There’s no response, but Alyssa can imagine Emma’s lips curving up into a little smile. “I would never be able to do that,” Alyssa adds bitterly, thinking of all the roles she’s forced to play to keep up appearances at school.

“’s not as easy as I make it look,” Emma mumbles.

“True,” Alyssa says, and they sit in silence for the rest of the journey.

Alyssa feels honored that Emma has placed some measure of trust in her. This is the most genuine interaction she’s had with anyone for a long time, and Alyssa craves more. What must it be like to be friends with Emma? To have someone you could talk about anything with without feeling judged? To know that they would always support you, no matter what? Who would accept you for who you were, not who they wanted you to be? Alyssa smiles sadly down at Emma’s unruly blonde curls.

It would be nice.

The bus turns off the main road and groans to a halt on a dimly lit street. Alyssa springs up and grabs both duffel bags before Emma can get them, or worse, before Emma can trip over them. She waves at the bus driver as they disembark, thanking her again profusely.

Emma stumbles blearily off the bus and nearly walks into Alyssa. Alyssa crosses the straps of the duffels over her shoulders so that they form an ‘X’ over her chest and a bag hangs on either side of her, and grabs Emma’s hand to guide her down the street. God knows what Emma would do if she were alone at this point. Probably wander down the street, tripping over cracks in the sidewalk and bumping into light poles. She really didn’t seem very coherent at this point.

When they reach number 17, Alyssa strides up to the door, towing Emma behind her by the hand. Alyssa reaches up, takes a breath, and rings the doorbell.

A few moments later, she hears footsteps walking up to the door. As the door opens, she hears a kind voice say, “Hello? Who is it?”

“Hi, Mrs. Nolan,” Alyssa says to the sprightly woman who appears in front of her. Emma’s grandmother is only slightly shorter than Alyssa, and has a smart grey bob and a twinkle in her eye. Alyssa immediately feels that she can trust her. “My name is Alyssa Greene, and I’m just here to drop Emma off.”

As Alyssa says this, Emma shuffles forward and wraps her arms around her grandmother’s waist, burying her head in Mrs. Nolan’s shoulder. Mrs. Nolan automatically reciprocates, and speaks to Alyssa around Emma’s head.

“Oh! Well, come in, come in.” Mrs. Nolan maneuvers her granddaughter and herself backwards, motioning for Alyssa to enter. Emma appears to be doing her best impersonation of a sloth. “And please call me Betsy.”

Betsy seems completely unfazed by two teenagers appearing unannounced on her doorstops late on a Thursday night. Without missing a beat, she says, “Could you just take those two bags upstairs? Put them down in Emma’s room – it’s the first door on your right. Thanks, Alyssa.”

Alyssa heads up the stairs, looking around as she does. The house is well-appointed, yet comfortable. It feels homey, lived-in; unlike Alyssa’s house, where the stark white walls and furniture feel suffocatingly clean.

Pushing open the door to Emma’s room, Alyssa sees that the room is already lovingly decorated. Emma must stay here a lot. The walls are painted a calming green, and are covered with various posters and prints. The bed is has a worn patchwork quilt tucked over it. A guitar stands in the corner. Alyssa likes it. She can see parts of Emma’s personality woven into the room.

When she gets back downstairs, Emma and Betsy are sitting together at the kitchen table. Emma’s hands are wrapped around a mug, and Betsy meets Alyssa’s eyes with a concerned look.

“Can I get you anything to eat or drink, Alyssa?”

“No thanks,” Alyssa says. “I should really get going. I only came to make sure Emma was going to be alright.”

Betsy gets up and walks over to Alyssa. She drops her voice. “What happened? I've never seen Emma this... disheartened.”

Alyssa glances at Emma, who is still sitting hunched over her mug. “I think that’s Emma’s story to tell. I wasn’t there – I just ran into her on the bus and brought her here.” Although Alyssa is reluctant to leave Emma in this state, she’s in safe hands and Alyssa really needs to get home. Her mother will be angry, and Alyssa doesn’t want to make her any angrier by being even later.

“Was it her parents?” Betsy asks.

Alyssa nods, and a threatening glint appears in Betsy’s eyes. As lovely as Betsy seems, Alyssa gets the impression that Emma’s grandmother can and will do anything out of love for her granddaughter. It’s a little scary, but leaves Alyssa completely reassured that Emma would be looked after here.

“Sorry, but I have to head home now.” Alyssa grimaces.

“That’s fine, dear. I think I can handle it from here,” promises Betsy. “How are you getting home? I would usually drive you, but I don’t think I should tonight.”

“I can take the bus or walk,” Alyssa says. “I’ll figure it out.”

Betsy gives her a hard look, then relents. She scribbles something down on a piece of paper.  “Here’s my number. Make sure you call me and let me know once you get home safe.”

Alyssa takes it, touched by the gesture. She smiles at Betsy. “I will. Thank you.”

Betsy waves her gratitude off. “No, thank _you_ , young lady. We’ll have to have you round for dinner sometime, so that I can thank you and get to know you properly.”

“I’d like that,” Alyssa says honestly.

Betsy hugs her, and after the initial moment of surprise, Alyssa hugs her back. Betsy smells of cinnamon and grandmotherly love, and it’s one of the best hugs Alyssa’s gotten in a long time.

Stepping back from the hug, Alyssa looks over to Emma again. She sees a lonely figure lost in thought, somehow shrouded in sadness even under the warm kitchen light. Alyssa’s heart wells up with emotion, and Betsy squeezes her shoulder comfortingly.

“She’ll be alright,” Betsy says. “We’ll make sure of that.”

“I know,” Alyssa replies. And Emma would be fine in the end. Alyssa was certain of that. Emma was the strongest person Alyssa had ever met, and Betsy seemed like she would be a wonderful support figure for Emma.

And then there was herself.

She and Emma might not currently be friends in this life, but Alyssa couldn’t wait for that alternate universe to come to her. They’d just have to be friends in this universe instead.

“Hey, Emma?”

Emma finally turns around, the kitchen light shining off the unkempt strands of her hair and haloing the soft lines of her face.

“Anytime you need me, just come find me. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Alyssa.” Emma’s smile is tentative, but real.

“Get home safe, dear,” Betsy says.

As she turns away from the house on Marion Avenue, Alyssa smiles. She was going to need to think of a really good excuse for when she got home, but it was alright. Emma was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you mean it’s gay to be so fiercely admiring and protective of the town’s resident lesbian? Alyssa doesn’t know what you’re talking about.


End file.
